


Just Research

by sreka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic, Fluffy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Nesting, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Wing Kink, Wingfic, castiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:57:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2649446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sreka/pseuds/sreka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started as innocently as Sam-doing-angel-research, but Castiel liked it a little too much.  Dean is jealous, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first fan fic piece I've ever written, and I'm still in the middle of it. There will likely be another part, if people want it. And I may revise this part. 
> 
> It is unbeta-ed at the moment, but hopefully that will change! 
> 
> Comments would be fantastic, as I really have no idea what I'm doing.

“I guess I didn’t expect them to be so…warm.”

Castiel was sitting shirtless in the library, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He twitched his left wing as Sam ran his fingers through the downy feathers at its base. Despite reassuring Sam that his wings weren’t something he actively hid from anyone, he was fervently hoping Dean was still occupied with his Impala.

“Ah. Yes.”

“Is this alright?”

“Yes, Sam, that’s fine.”

“So how many people have felt them?”

“Only a small number. I suppose I don’t make it a habit to share them.”

“They’re fucking amazing. It’s like… they’re, I don’t know…addicting or something.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, that’s so weird, man. It’s like I can’t stop, you know….?”

Sam’s fingers were weaving deeper and deeper into the plumage, slowly working his way down the length of Castiel’s left wing. His wrist had twisted, and Sam was caressing the underside, running his fingers up and down the lithe muscle.

Cas swallowed. This was research. Sam had been researching angels, he was just curious.

This was fine.

His wings were becoming warmer, heavier, drooping down to be cradled in Sam’s large hands. He felted his shoulders relaxing and head dipping back. If Dean came in…

If Dean saw him with his wings like this.

If Dean saw him like this, with this wings spreading and stretching forward, feathers puffing up slightly…

Dean wouldn’t…

Dean couldn’t…

“Uhmm. Cas?”

The downy feathers on the underside of his wings were dampening, the ridge along the tops of his wings were slightly raised up, reaching forward, seeking contact. He felt drunk, too warm, his head was spinning and he distantly felt himself keening.

“Cas!?”

Castiel jolted forward, his wings snapping in towards his back. He was instantly and acutely aware of what the human concept of mortification meant. He couldn’t bring himself to face Sam. He breathed deeply and hung his head down, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh… you alright, man?”

“Yes..Sam. I’m so sorry. I have no –“

“Hey, you’re fine. Did you, uh, see Dean in here before?”

Castiel’s head snapped up looking around for Dean. Seeing no one, he turned sharply to Sam.

“What? Was he in here?”

“Oh uh, I don’t know. I figured you saw him. You said his name, so…”

“Ah. Right.”

“Right...”

After a pause, Sam turned back to his table, marking some pages and rearranging his books. He cleared his throat.

“Sam—”

“So, uh thanks, Cas. This was really helpful, like, I mean I’ve been doing this research and not really getting it, and this was…yeah. Good.”

Sam watched as Castiel stood up, wings now disappeared, buttoning up his shirt.

“You’re welcome, Sam.”

He was out of the room faster than if he had flown.

 

* * *

 

 

“So get this…”

Dean had been sizing up his ratchets, trying to figure out which would be best for a particularly stubborn bolt underneath his car. He jumped slightly and cursed himself for not hearing Sam lumbering in, he was apparently getting a little too complacent in the relatively safety of the bunker.

“Sammy. What’s up? Case?”

“Nah. So, I was doing some research—”

“Big surprise.”

“Shut up. Anyways, I was doing some research and asked Cas for help, to see his wings, you know, and while I was feeling th—”

“You what?”

“Well, we don’t have a case to research so I was looking stuff up about angels, so we might have a chance in hell the next time they pop up. There’s not much written but I—”

“Yeah, I get that. I’m talking about the part where you fondled Cas’s goddam wings.”

Sam took a long sip of his own beer before throwing Dean the bottle he’d brought in for him. He was using every ounce of his willpower not to smirk at Dean’s jealousy, so obviously simmering under the surface.

“I wasn’t fondling them, I was just taking a look at how they worked.”

Dean was holding his bottle with white knuckles.

“Yeah. Alright.”

Dean cracked open his bottle with the side of his ratchet, leaning against his car and warily eyeing Sam. He cracked his knuckles, glancing around.

“So what’d you need to tell me about it? Cracked some angel code through his feathers?”

“No. He like…” Sam wondered exactly how much he should be sharing with Dean. He was definitely going to be omitting the fact that he _most certainly had_ fondled the angel. Accidentally.

“He was relaxed. It was nice. I think he needs to, uh, let his wings down more often, you know?”

Dean grunted.

“Anyways, you should look into some of this stuff. It’s interesting.”

“Right.”

“Alright.”

Dean gave Sam a searching look before grabbing his tools and turning back to his car, wondering why the hell Sam had felt the need to mention any of this.

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel perched himself on the edge of his bed, hands shaking as he quickly unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged the fabric off his shoulders. His wings furled out on either side of him and he stretched them back, trying to will his excited feathers back in place. The oil at the base of his wings, which had dampened the downy feathers on the underside was finally cooling and drying. Castiel was relieved.

In the privacy of his room, the heat in his face was going down as well. Had Sam realized what was going on? He must have. He had moaned. He had apparently moaned out Dean’s name. Castiel was certainly no stranger to his feelings for the man, but he hadn’t realized Sam’s touching would have been anything but clinical. For him to be thinking of Dean during Sam’s…research. He shuddered.

It had been far too long since he allowed himself to let his mind wander, to stretch his wings and allow his biology to take over. He was absentmindedly stroking his longer, smooth flight feathers. They were just in his reach, fanned out on either side of the bed, still slightly warm and oversensitive.

But this wasn’t right. To be thinking of Dean without his consent, after Sam had caught him…reacting. In a vessel nonetheless, displaying many more physical responses. He shook his wings out sharply and stowed them. He didn’t have time for this…weakness.

He stood up, looking for his clothes with the intention of dressing and researching. But the idea of facing Sam, who might be looking into _exactly what had just happened,_ stopped him in his tracks.

He decided he would stay in this room for the rest of the evening.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam flipped through his books. He had found a few dozen books that mentioned angels, but only briefly. Finding angel…mating habits? Sexual response? What was he even looking for? He had spent the last hours since leaving Dean combing through his books, finding nothing more than vague, unhelpful notes about angel anatomy. Of all the supernatural beings Sam had tried to research, angels had the least information. They weren’t willing to share their secrets, Sam reasoned.

“Still looking up angel crap?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam glanced up at Dean, who threw a greasy rag on the table and plopped down next to Sam.

“So, why are you doing this again?”

“I’m just curious, I guess. We don’t have a pressing case to research, but we need to figure this out at some point. And we know basically nothing about angels. No one does. I mean, how do their wings work, how to their blades work, you know?”

“Dude, they’re like celestial beings. It just…it works.”

“And you’re okay with that explanation? If we don’t know how they work, we can’t fight them, you know that right?”

Dean grunted, but pulled a book towards him. Sam was guessing he was more interested in how _Cas_ worked than his siblings in general.

They leafed through their books in silence for a while.

“So you asked to see his wings?”

Sam turned in his chair slightly so to his smirk from Dean.

“Yep”

“And he let you.”

“Yeah.”  
“Just popped out his wings and let you feel him up?”

“I wasn’t feeling him up, I was just…examining him.”

“Gross, dude.”

“I didn’t… you know what I meant Dean. There’s nothing written about angel wings, and I’ve been looking all over the bunker. I’m going to try to keep some notes in case we need them later.”

“Notes on what, how to give angels a back rub?”

“Dean. More knowledge, more power.”

“Whatever you say, dude.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dean shuffled towards the kitchen. He knew he shouldn’t be as bothered as he was. Neither Castiel nor Sam knew he was interested in Cas. He hoped. He knew it was more than a silly crush, knew he was genuinely invested in Castiel, that he wasn’t just searching for comfort in a revolving door of women and booze this time.

Dean had never given much thought to Castiel’s wings. Sure, when Cas popped into the impala or disappeared in front of him, they crossed his mind. But he had never thought of them as something to hold and touch. And he had thought about Cas.

Had thought about and cataloged every part of his body, in every context, and dwelled on it far too often. Dean thought about Castiel’s shoulders and his strong back while they were fighting, thought about what his thighs must look like in the shower with hot water running down his legs and his hair sticking up everywhere. He had thought about his fingers trailing down his stomach, his arms tensed up as he ran his rough palms over his cock. He thought about his toes curling, his eyes rolling back, his neck arching and heart beating too quickly.

But wings?

Smooth, silky wings falling down his back with a life of their own, arching and twitching while Dean pounded into him? Or flung out on either side of him while he threw Dean onto the bed and covered him with his body.

He shivered. He stopped dead in the hallway. Suddenly, he had the urge to spin around, run back to Sam in the library and ask him everything. What did it feel like? What color were they? How big were they? Were they soft? What do you mean he “relaxed”? Did he like it? Did he like you touching him? Did he want you to keep touching him?

He was…angry? Jealous, definitely. He could admit that. Why had Cas felt so comfortable letting Sam touch him? Maybe wings were nothing more than arms and legs to angels, but still…Dean didn’t think he’d be any less happy with Sam caressing Castiel’s arms or legs. Sketching them out for notes, okay. Looking at them, fine. But Cas had enjoyed this? He had “relaxed”? Was this an angel massage? That was fine right. Hell, Sammy had rubbed Dean’s back after a particularly nasty fight or two, right?

Dean shook his head, trying to shake his jealous, and quite frankly obsessive, thoughts from his mind. He wheeled himself into the kitchen to get another beer.

Castiel was standing by the stove, waiting for a tea kettle to boil. Dean hesitated in the doorway.

‘Jesus. Do I ignore him? I should go. I’ll go….fuck it. I need a beer’

Dead headed for the fridge, lifting a chin in salute as Cas spun around wide-eyed, and clearly surprised to see him.

“Heya, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“So I heard you got one hell of a massage today”

The words were out of Dean’s mouth before he could stop them. ‘Why the hell am I saying this? What am I doing.’

Cas was at least three shades of red and fidgeting with the knob on the stove behind him, unconsciously lower and raising the flames on the stove.

“Sam simply wanted to see my wings for research.”

“Right.”

Cas stared owlishly at Dean for a few more seconds, swallowing heavily and turning back to watch his kettle.

As much as he wanted to grab his keys and flee the bunker for good, his feet were stuck. He was desperate, on the edge of asking Castiel what had happened, the words stuck in the back of his mouth, suffocating him.

“So Sam, uh, said you should let your wings down more often.” He chuckled weakly. This is a joke. I’m joking. We’re friends, we joke.

“What?” Castiel was sure he looked downright panicked, and decided turning from the stove would not be a wise move.

“Nothing, just that you liked it. Like a backrub or something. It’s nothing. It’s like an expression, you know….’let your hair down’…relax?”

“Oh. I see.”

“Yeah.”

The kettle had started to steam, leaving Cas with the chance to avoid Dean for a few moments. He busied himself trying to find a suitable mug.

“So is it weird to hide them most of the time?”

“To hide…? Oh. My wings?”

“Yeah.”

“No, it’s not particularly weird. Or uncomfortable. I guess it’s nice to stretch them, but I usually forget about them.”

Castiel poured his hot water and turned to look at Dean.

Before Dean could think he blurted out, “Was is nice?”

Mentally, he was kicking himself. Why was this coming out of his mouth?

“I—it was, I guess.” Castiel’s had gotten far too familiar with human anatomy recently, and knew his heart was beating much too quickly. He could sense where this was going, and he had no idea what he would say to Dean.

“Can I see them? I uh, I’m helping Sam now. With research.”

There was a long pause. Cas imagined his reaction to Dean touching his wings. He wasn’t sure he was breathing anymore.

“Dean… I think it would be best if you didn’t…”

“Right. Yeah.”

“It’s not that I distrust you, I just—”

“No it’s cool, man. Alright, uh” Dean rubbed the back of his neck and pushed himself off the counter where he had been resting, “right, so I’m going to hit the hay. G’night.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel walked back to his room in a daze. What _would_ it be like to have Dean touching his wings? Surely he wouldn’t be able to control himself. He had almost reached nirvana just thinking about him while Dean’s _brother,_ of all people, was touching his wing.

He needed release. He was becoming lethargic, he could feel his energy draining and powers weakening. All of this…distraction wasn’t good for him. He was a soldier, used to pushing himself past the needs of bonding and comfort. But Dean was testing his limits. He was sure this... unusual response to Dean was a result of having been in a human vessel for too long.

His other siblings, even those made for war and used to ignoring their need for love and affection, were drawn to mates. An angel’s grace was intangible, just a dusting of celestial atoms once existing out of place and time, birthed simultaneously at the beginning of existence. Castiel could barely remember that time. It was ecstasy, nirvana. It was existence, but perfect stasis. It was a melding of pure grace into the air around them, reaching out to brothers and sisters and feeling nothing but love and connection.

And then the war had come, and existing in stasis was no longer an option. Still, in celestial bodies or even in vessels, angels sought one another out, their grace calling for those who had once held them close at the beginning of all things.

Grace sought like grace, and once found, mates would lie together in clouds, tangling up their wings and resting in transcendental bliss whenever they had a moment to spare.

This first time Castiel had stumbled upon a pair caressing wing with wing and lying blissfully together, he had longed for his own mate. Gabriel had seen him staring, and pulled him back, reminding him that that life wasn’t for the soldiers.

He had been fine, until feeling Dean’s soul in hell. Naomi was right. He had been lost.

He had once confided in Gabriel that he thought he Dean might actually be a mate, rather than just a human charge.

Gabriel had laughed and laughed, accused him of going native, and falling in love with a human who could never understand. But have fun, he had said.

Castiel didn’t want fun. He wanted what the couple he had seen had – unconditional peace, total acceptance. Bliss. And he was stubbornly sure he had found this in Dean.

He leaned into the pillow on his bed and thought out what it would be like to bring Dean to his little corner of heaven. To lay him down, cocoon themselves in silky clouds and let the hunter shut his eyes and simply be.

Would Dean caress his wings? Would he instinctively know how to bury his fingers in Cas’s feathers and spread the slick oil down his feathers, teasing each one between forefinger and thumb. Castiel had always imagined burying his own face in sweet, soft feathers, and getting intoxicated off the scent of another angel’s oil. But mating with a human… even his own human… he had no idea where to begin.

Castiel fumbled to get his shirt off and stretch out his wings, hissing quietly when the feathers of his left and right wing brushed against each other. He was far too stimulated to keep this quiet. He jumped up to lock his door.

He sat himself down on the edge of his bed, leaning forward slightly at the waist and reaching back to comb his fingers through the oil accumulating at the base of his wing. Muffling a moan, he gently rubbed the small nub hidden under layers of feathers. He imagined Dean mouthing at the back of his neck, licking his way down the center of his spine between his wings. The idea of Dean nuzzling into his feathers to lick at his gland made Cas moan aloud, arching his back so his wings brushed together.

The overstimulated flight feathers towards the end of his wings were hot, stretching towards contact with the opposite wing. Cas kept his back arched to allow his wings to move together, choking on a moan and leaning forward to rest his elbow on his knees. Unable to keep himself upright any longer, he curled his wings around himself, grabbing the tip of his left wing with his right hand and running his fingers up and down the length of a handful of feathers.

He felt his back dampening, a trail of oil dripping down his skin and his wings fluttering gently. He twisted his left free arm back to rub his oil gland, milking himself for all he was worth. His head hung lower and he was keening now, moaning freely as he tried to coordinate the long strokes on his lower feathers with his frantic rubbing of his oil gland. His left hand was drenched in oil, slipping on and off of that overly sensitive knot. He drew his hand out from his wing to wet his lower feathers.

He knew he was seconds away from bliss and shakily returned to stroking and rubbing. Trying to keep quiet, he bit his lip and his grasped tightly at his wing. He pressed down on his gland one last time, fingers slipping in the oily mess as his wings snapped out straight to his side. His entire body was on fire, nerves singing, pins and needles coursing through his vessel. He was drunk, high, on fire…his head lolled to the side and he let out one last long moan as he shook with pleasure, wishing Dean were behind him to grab his wings and pull him back into his chest.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel had fallen into a deep, sated sleep and didn’t awake until late the following morning.

He dressed and opened his door quietly. It was nearly ten o’clock in the morning, so he was certain he would be the only occupant of the bunker just making his way to the kitchen. One of the few human indulgences he had allowed to take up was a morning cup of coffee, and he desperately needed one now. His taste for the beverage wasn’t an addiction to the caffeine, which was common from what he understood from the sitcoms he watched with Sam in the evening. He simply liked the banality of the routine. Wake up, dress, drink coffee. He would typically join Sam and Dean in this endeavor each morning, as a signal that it was time to start the day. _Their_ day. It was a sense of mundane, routine, belonging – as if he had been officially accepted into Dean’s world.

Today he needed that reassuring drink.

The awkwardness of the past twenty-four hours was not lost on him. In fact, it was starkly apparent this morning when he had awoken with sheets still damp from his oil and feathers strewn around the bed. He hastily shoved the errant feathers underneath his dresser before making his way to the kitchen. _No point wasting perfectly good feathers_. Though he didn’t expect to need them.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

“Morning.”

Sam was sitting at the table on his laptop, waiting for his breakfast to finish on the stove.

“Good morning, Sam.”

Sam tipped the screen of his laptop slightly forward, to get a better look at Castiel.

“So I was reading about angel feathers – they seriously _are_ addicting? How is that possible? Is that what makes them so potent in  spell work? I’m so lost… is it like a molecular thing – transfer through skin or what? I’m wondering if it will be useful to have some arou– “

Castiel held up a hand, “Sam.”

Sam broke off his tirade of questions and smiled sheepishly.

“I’m afraid I’m not an expert on the nature of angel’s grace and human interactions. I’ve always been a soldier, and have spent little time observing humanity.”

 _Strictly speaking that’s not true_ , Castiel thought. _But Sam doesn’t need to hear about grace’s addictive power our one’s mate. It was practically profane to try and explore the nature of grace – it was divine, and that was that. It was a bond, shared between family, between friends, and it was undeniably strong between mates. One didn’t talk about grace bonds._ It wasn’t in any writing that Castiel knew of, and he’d like to keep it that way.

Sam gave Castiel a skeptical look, and pressed forward.

“I’m only interested in what angel feathers can do in terms of protective spells. I’ve been reading a lot about how they are useful, but unpredictable. Sometimes the wards cast with angel feathers are practically useless. Dean and I tried once, and rock salt would have been better. But sometimes – look –“

He pointed to his laptop. On his screen was a digitized image of a very old, very yellowed page.

“Here,” Sam pointed at a line in the text and began reading the broken Latin-Enochian text, “ _feathers imbued with grace_ ….something… _protection against the nest_ … that’s a metaphor?... _most powerful bonded protection…_ I can’t really make out that much of the Enochian and page is eroding, but does any of this sound familiar to you?”

Castiel’s eye were still wander across the screen, reading at a rapid pace. _Shit_.

“I wouldn’t put too much stock in this text, Sam. Where did you find it?”

“Some conspiracy website, but –“

“Well, there’s an answer for you, Sammy. I bet you think some angels were the other gunmen on the grassy knoll, too. Leave the man’s feathers alone, dude.”

Castiel wasn’t sure when Dean had come into the kitchen. He was leaning against the door frame and wiping his hands on a greasy rag. He shot a rue smile to Castiel.

“This kid, huh? Any coffee left?”

“I’m… I’m not sure. I was just coming to get some.”

“Here,” Dean filled a cup, “you take this and I’ll make a new pot.”

“No, that’s fine. I don’t have anything planned for the morning. If you want to get back to the Impala.”

Dean shrugged and thanked Castiel quickly, leaving the kitchen. Once he imagined he was a safe enough distance away for his footsteps to stop echoing and give away his location he lingered, trying to listen to the conversation in the kitchen. He barely made out Sam asking Castiel to _please keep thinking about it_ , and let him know if he _remembered anything helpful for protective wards_.

Castiel voiced his assent and told Sam he was going out to take a walk.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Dean spent the next few days holed up in the garage. Grab coffee. Run to Baby. Listen to Zep. A perfect distraction.

By two o’clock on Thursday Dean realized he hadn’t eaten anything all day. He made his way back towards the kitchen the long way, past the library, hoping to avoid Castiel. Cas was prone to walking around the property for hours; sometimes he read or sat calmly, but sometimes he paced continually, scowling as he went.

On _those days_ , when dealing with a particularly troublesome issue in the sky, he would be outside for the better portion of the day. He tried to return to the house quietly, but had the subtly of – well, of a celestial being crammed into six-foot meat bag. Despite his attempt to keep the atmosphere in the bunker calm, he would crackle with electricity and power, reminding Dean how formidable he is when on the war path. Dean had a feeling it was one of _those days_ , after running into Castiel alone in the kitchen for the first time and not speaking a word.

Jesus. How had he fucked up so badly? _Well, by asking to see his wings, dumbass,_ he chided himself. _Now he can’t stand to be around you. Lovely._

He peeked into the library, expecting to see Sam working alone. To his surprise, he saw Castiel at the adjacent table, books spread out around him, looking quite serene. Well, as serene as Cas’s typically stern face could get.

 _And, it was going to be the shorter route the kitchen after all_.

Dean stopped in his bedroom to change.

Maybe he had over-estimated how upset Castiel was with him _._ It would be nice to get back to the status quo: wallowing in his unrequited love and sneaking glances at the slice of perfect, creamy skin that would become exposed when he reached for a book on the higher shelves. Dean could live with that. They were close, friends, brothers-in-arms. Sometimes in a hunter’s life things just didn’t work out – _okay_ , he reasoned. Having some measure of closeness with Castiel was enough. As long as he could expect friendship, and not this awkward wall between them.

After throwing his grease-stained clothes in the laundry basket, he made his way down the hall. Somewhat guiltily, he glanced in Castiel’s bedroom as he passed it. Dean loved his bedroom. It was austere and undecorated, but Dean could see little touches of Castiel everywhere. The bed was made, but the covers were slightly rumpled where Cas slept. There was always a thick, classic novel on the bedside table. He was ‘studying humanity,’ that’s what Cas said when Dean poked fun at his choices. He had a distaste for folding clothes, but did so grudgingly. His dresser drawers were always slightly askew with clothes bulging out of the tops. And –

_Hang on. What is that?_

Something dark, reflecting light, was sticking out just slightly from below Cas’s dresser.

_Shit._

Dean glanced at the hallway. Empty.

_Shit. Am I doing this?_

If there was one surefire way to make sure Castiel would remain uncomfortable in Dean’s presence, snooping around his room was certainly the way. Especially if the object in question was what Dean thought it was.

It was.

A single, long feather was protruding from underneath Castiel’s dressing. He crouched, sliding it out to take a closer look. Pulling in forward caused a slew of smaller feathers and downy particles to fly into Dean’s face.

Caught off guard, he stumbled backwards on his heels slightly, before scooping up the whole lot of feathers in his hands.

They were…

They were…

They were exquisite. No, perfect. No, no…

Ecstasy. 

Dean rubbed the velvety plumage between his thumb and forefinger, slipping into a trance-like state. He stared at his fist-full of feathers and dropped from his kneeling position on the floor to sit cross-legged, leaning against the foot of the bed.

He sat silently, reverently, allowing himself the pleasure of experiencing a full dose of Castiel. Better, he imagined, than a hit of heroin.

In the library, Castiel shuddered.

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

“I’ll – I’ll be back in a moment,” Castiel said abruptly, he voice rasping.

He headed towards his bedroom. _Dean was in there Dean had found his feathers Dean had touched his feathers._

_Dean had touched him._

His face flushed but he walked into his bedroom with conviction regardless.

“Dean!”

Dean jumped a mile, “Cas! Cas, I’m… fuck it, I’m not even sorry. This is what Sam was talking about with addictive? Are you kidding me? You let…”

Suddenly a burning jolt of jealously ran through Dean.

“ _Sam felt_ –“

“No. Dean.”

As Castiel approached Dean clutched harder at the feathers, pulling them back towards him. Castiel continued, warily. He had heard of jealous mates, but surely…. Dean was human after all. He laid a hand over Dean’s closed fist.

“Sam certainly _did not_ feel this.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Sam stretched, looking up from laptop. It was late in the evening now, and it dawned on him that he hadn’t heard anything from Castiel. Or Dean, for that matter.

He glanced at Castiel’s research, strewn around the table.

_Huh._

Sam suspected he would rather go out for the night than intrude on whatever revelation Dean and Castiel had made.

It was a wise choice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose I shall pick up where I left off about 18 months ago... I'm cringing with shame. I apologize.

“No, Dean. Sam certainly did not feel this.” 

Castiel’s hand was now covering Dean’s fist, his fallen feather protruding from Dean’s grip. Castiel knew he had to get it back from Dean before continuing any conservation with the man; the residual grace in the feather was obviously overwhelming him. He split second thought that Dean was reacting due to reciprocated feelings was… a mere fantasy. He sighed. 

“Dean, I’m not sure why you’re so much more affected than is...normal for a human interacting with grace. But, if you’ll just give….”

Dean snatched his fist from underneath Castiel’s outstretched palm. 

“No,” Dean sputtered, “No, Cas… I need this. I need...” He cast around for a word, unable to articulate exactly what he wanted from Castiel. He felt the urge to envelop himself in the angel, bury his face in Castiel’s neck and draw sustenance from his grace for eternity.

“Dean, you’re only saying these things because you’re holding the feathers, the...grace. If you let go you’ll understand that.” the angel said, with a bit of an edge in his voice. 

Cas was frustrated, Dean realized. Maybe disappointed? I’ll let them go, Dean thought. I’ll let them go and tell him this isn’t just from his grace. Tell him that I know exactly why I’m reacting more strongly that Sam did. I’ll…

Cas reached out again, Dean was once again overcome with an instinctual panic to keep feathers at all costs. After what was quite possibly the worst internal struggle Dean had ever faced (which is really saying something, Dean thought), he opened his fist and let the handful of feathers drift slowly to the ground.

“Cas, I swear it’s not just -- “ 

Both men shuddered as they felt the bond break so suddenly. They were silent for a moment, before Dean pushed himself off of the floor and stepped into Castiel’s space, gently placing his hands on either side of the angel’s shoulders.

Both men for a still for a few moments, steadying themselves.

“That was...intense.”

“Yes. Residual grace normally doesn’t stay in stray feathers for so long. I am sorry. You should be fine in a moment.” Cas attempted to step backwards, but was held in place by Dean. He looked at the hunter questioningly.

“Cas, I don’t... ” Dean took a deep breath. He couldn’t look Cas in the eyes. His hands trailed slowly down Cas’s biceps, caressing them unconsciously. 

“I don’t really want to feel fine in a moment.”

Dean glanced up at Castiel’s face and instantly regretted his confession. He expected the angel to look confused -- that was, after all, Cas’s natural expression when it came to human emotions -- but he did not expect a stony expression and deep frown. 

“Dean, I understand that grace is...comforting...but I’m not here for you to --”

“Cas, no. I mean, isn’t there a reason I reacted so strongly? Don’t we have a profound bond? I want that, alright?” Dean pulled Castiel in even closer, reaching one hand up to Cas’s face. 

“I’m not even sure what that bond is, Dean.” 

“Neither do I, but I don’t really give a shit, Cas. I don’t know if it’s angelic or just some cosmic fucking joke, or...whatever. It doesn’t matter. Even without it… Cas, I want this. Even without your weird, addicting feathers. I. ..” 

Dean trailed off, once again meeting Castiel’s eyes nervously. 

“I’m not good at this, okay?” He whispered. 

“Okay,” Castiel nodded. 

Dean began leaning in to kiss the shorter man, huffing out a laugh as he saw slight panic in Cas’s eyes. 

Dean decided the best way of providing him reassurance didn’t require words. 

+++++++++++

Castiel felt warm, slightly chapped lips press against his. For a moment he did nothing, simply drifted his eyes shut and appreciated the closeness of Dean. He moaned softly as he felt Dean’s lips continuing to move, pressing, releasing, pressing gently against his own. His hands moved instinctively, one resting against Dean’s chest, one trailing along his hip. He returned the pressure of Dean’s lips softly, relishing in Dean’s enthusiastic moan and tightened hold around his waist. 

Overwhelmed at the continuing ministrations, he curled his fingers around Dean’s hip, holding him for stability as Dean darted his tongue out to lick at Castiel’s lower lip. Cas moaned, and Dean used the opportunity to slip his tongue into Castiel’s mouth, earning him an encouraging sound from the angel. 

Dean began to sneak his hands underneath Castiel’s shirt, stroking as much supple skin as he could within his fingers’ reach. He was warm; hotter than Dean would have expected from an angel. Dean began tugging at Castiel’s shirt, urging the angel to take it off. 

“Cas - “ 

“Yes, yes…” Cas breathed, distracted by trying to remove the prohibitive piece of cloth.

“I want to see your wings…”

Castiel met Dean’s eyes and he struggled even more in earnest, before Dean stepped in to callously rip open the few remaining buttons. Dean stared greedily at the smooth expanse of chest and taut stomach before him. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Castiel’s neck, sucking at his skin, trailing his tongue along the vein running down his neck, peppering his collarbone with kisses. 

Cas was leaning against the wall in the bedroom, door still ajar, eyes half-closed and Dean paused for a moment to take in the sight. He was panting. His hair was as disheveled as Dean had ever seen it, and his pale skin was peppered with pink marks from Dean’s lips and teeth. 

“God, you’re... gorgeous.” 

Cas merely hummed in recognition of the complement, trying to pull Dean back towards him. 

Latching on to the sensitive skin along the side of Castiel’s neck again, Dean ran his fingers under the sleeves of his now-opened shirt. He eased the garment off of the angel’s shoulders, letting it drop silently to the floor below their feet.

The feeling of Dean’s tongue laving along the vein throbbing just under his skin sent Cas’s blood boiling. He was moaning softly, almost whimpering under the ministrations. His pants had grown tight and his hips moved unconsciously forward, seeking contact. His hips bumped against Dean’s; both men moaned as their clothed erections brushed one another. The angel arched his lower half forward, rubbing himself against Dean.

“Ah...mm…give me a second. ‘S too good.”

Dean had moved his hips away from Cas’s desperate grinding and was resting his head against Castiel’s shoulder, breathing heavily. After a moment, he glanced up at Cas, who looked wrecked.

“God...uh sorry...gosh…gosh...hm. What do you want Cas?”

“I… I don't…”

Cas was struggling, clearly grasping for the words to articulate his many desires. Dean calmed him, running his hands up and down Cas’s arms. 

“S’okay… We can go slow.” 

Cas huffed out a laugh. 

“Mmn, that's not...not the problem...I want everything.”

Dean’s eyes darkened, pupils dilating with lust knowing that Cas may have been overwhelmed but desired Dean in raw, human way. 

“Wings?” 

Cas nodded vigorously, gasping out a quiet, “yes, yes.”

Dean stepped back, watching intently as Cas rolled his shoulders and then suddenly Dean could see just the edges of his feathers. His wings were tucked tightly behind his back; Cas could barely shake the nervousness inherent in sharing his otherworldly appendages. Apprehensively, he unfurled the soft wings with a gentle rustling sound. They fell down and out to his sides, trailing down his back, the feathers of each wing coming to a point and just barely ghosting the floor.

The feathers were jet black, catching the light and reflecting the room’s colors each time Castiel shifted.

Dean stepped forward and cradled Castiel’s face with his hands, rubbing his thumb along the angel’s sharp jaw. He pressed soft kisses against his lips, fighting to control himself.

“Seriously, Cas, I want you. Not just your wings.”

Castiel responded by returning his kiss. 

Dean’s hands slipped down Cas’s neck, coming to rest at the juncture of his wing and shoulder blade. Dean felt the other man’s body quiver as he began tentatively raking his fingertips through the feathers at the base of his wings.

Castiel’s knees buckled and his wings reached out, curling forward around their pressed-together bodies.

Dean huffed out a soft chuckle. He realized he had been pinning Cas against the doorframe, shamelessly rutting against him as he caressed his feathers.

“Let’s get you to the bed.”

Dean shut and locked the door behind him. He finally had a chance to discover every inch of Castiel’s body and he would be damned if he was going let their time together to be interrupted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it is done (after 3 years).

Dean heard the lock click and leaned forward, resting his forehead against the back of the door. He needed a moment to gather himself. He was unbearably hard and the mere thought of Castiel spread out on the bed - shirtless and glassy-eyed with lust - with his dark wings spread around him was almost too much for Dean to handle. 

 

“Dean,” Castiel moaned. He was impatient even in his haze of hormones. His voice was wrecked. He sounded so desperate. Dean shuddered and turned to face him. 

 

Cas looked even more incredible than Dean could have imagined -  _ had  _ imagined many times in the shower, in his bedroom, on long nights in the Impala...

 

He was sprawled out on top of the duvet shirtless. His dark trousers were tented, belt undone, and cock straining against the cotton material. His wings were flung out on either side of him, one hand was buried in the long feathers at the edge of his left wing and thumbing small circles against the plumage. 

 

Dean let out a rough moan.  _ Shit.  _ He was only going to last mere seconds.

 

Dean made his way over to the bed and positioned himself over Castiel, kneeling on either side of his hips. Cas’s hips stuttered up, trying to find friction, but Dean was adamant not give in to the temptation so soon. 

 

Castiel’s wings were on either side of him the ends, the downy undersides facing the ceiling. Dean pressed his palms against them and dragged his hands down their length. 

 

Cas flung his head back against the pillow and moaned in satisfaction, exposing his soft throat. Dean took this opportunity to taste; pressing soft kisses against the side of Cas’s neck was wonderful, but gently licking a stripe along the hollow of his throat elicited a much stronger reaction from the angel. Dean chuckled. Cas responded by grabbing Dean’s hips and trying to grind upward against him. 

 

“Unh uh. You have to be patient, Cas. I want to take my time with you…” Dean pinned Cas’s hands above his head loosely, knowing full well the angel could smite him with a single look if he truly felt trapped. 

 

Castiel tilted his head and glanced up curiously at Dean’s large hand holding his wrists together, but did not protest. He simply writhed underneath Dean more, seeking contact.

 

Dean experimentally lowered his hips to Castiel’s, allowing their cocks to shift deliciously against one another. 

 

“Off,” Castiel panted.

 

“Yeah, yeah..” Dean released Castiel’s wrists and grabbed his hips, lifting them off the bed slightly so he could remove the offending clothing. He bent his head down and shimmied down the bed, laving open-mouth kisses against Castiel’s stomach and gently biting at his hip bones while he stripped Cas down. 

 

Throwing Cas’s pants to the floor, he reached down, stroking Castiel’s cock through his boxers. 

 

“What do you want, Cas?”

 

Castiel wretched out a moan. He was beyond words. 

 

Dean breathed heavily against the damp boxers. He mouthed at Cas’s cock through the fabric experimentally. Precum oozed through the fabric, and Dean was seized with a sudden urge to lick up every last drop. 

 

Dean pulled off Castiel’s boxers and took a moment to admire the thick cock that bobbed slightly before him, standing at attention heavy and dripping. 

 

Cas pressed his head further back in the pillows, clutching at his feathers and thrusting up into the air unconsciously. 

 

“Please, Dean…”

 

Slowly, Dean licked a stripe up from the base to the tip. He lapped at the underside of his cock head, reveling in the panicked noises Cas was beginning to make. 

 

“S’alright, Cas. I got you.”

 

He fisted the base of Cas’s cock and gently started at the head, dipping his head up and down the shaft, applying just the lightest of suction. He didn’t want Cas to come too soon, after all. 

 

“Nng...No. It’s...too much.”

 

Dean pulled off, taking a last lick at the precome beaded at the tip of his cock. He caressed Cas’s chest as he moved up to kiss him, finally - mercifully - pulling off the rest of his own clothes. 

 

He lay down on top of Cas, pressing the lengths of their bodies together. Slipping arms around the angel, he moved his hands underneath Castiel’s shoulder blades, cradling the base of his wings and feeling that the feathers had gone hot and damp. 

 

Cas’s wings were wet with some kind of sweet scented oil, sending Dean into a heady trance. He buried his head in the crook of Castiel’s neck and undulated his fingers in and out of the wings, stroking his hands up and down the feathers and muscles he found there. He was lost, gone, grasping and twisting at the feathers there, dragging the oil along the crest of Castiel’s wings and softly chanting his name. 

 

“Dean...” 

 

Dean was vaguely aware of Castiel’s call, and extracted dazed state long enough to realize Cas was trying to turn them over. 

 

Dean allowed himself to be manhandled and gently thrown down against the bed. Now, he was looking up at Castiel, who was kneeling over him, wings spread out and arching down towards Dean.

 

Dean lifted himself up and leaning against the headboard he pulled Castiel forward towards his chest, capturing his mouth. As he trailed his fingers down Cas’s back, he felt a sheen of oil dripping down towards the small of his back.

 

“Please, Dean, please….” Cas chanted softly in his lust-filled stupor.

 

He pressed down, rubbing Dean’s swollen cock against the cleft of his ass. Moaning, he mimicked riding his cock, wings snapped out to the sides and arms drapped around Dean’s neck while he thrust up and down, allowing Dean’s cock tantalizingly close to slipping against his entrance. 

 

Dean’s large hands held Cas around his waist for support.

 

“You sure?” 

 

“Please,” Castiel bit out. 

 

Slicking his fingers with the oil running from the base of his wings, Dean slowly pressed a finger at Cas’s entrance, easing into him gently. 

 

Cas pressed his cock against Dean’s stomach, bearing down on Dean’s finger and moaning. He was impatiently murmuring against Dean’s neck.

 

“More.”

 

“Alright, shh...I don’t want to hurt-”

 

“You...you won’t. More. Move.  _ Please, _ Dean, please.”

 

Hearing the angel out-right begging was too much for Dean, who had been three fingers deep and rubbing at Cas’s prostate. 

 

“Okay.”   
  


With a sharp cry of relief, Castiel lifted up his hips and allowed Dean to angle himself underneath the Cas.

 

“You’re su--ah!”

 

Cas had already slipped down on Dean’s cock, thighs trembling and dusted with a sheen of sweat and oil. 

 

Dean gasped as he entered Castiel. The heat, the tightness was unbearable. He was so close.

 

“Cas, shit. I’m gonna-”

 

“Yes, yes, yes…” Cas pressed a hand against Dean’s chest, holding himself up. He threw his head back, bouncing up and down on Dean’s cock while his wings flung themselves forward, curling around Dean’s shoulders. Dean reached up, grabbing wordlessly at the feathers, feeling every nerve in his body singing, singing, singing. He came with a shout, head thrown back against the headboard.

 

He felt a jolt of something like electricity and watched in a haze as Castiel bore down deeply on him one last time before coming over Dean’s stomach.

 

Cas slumped forward, still moaning softly, and Dean was there to hold him tightly. 

  
  
  


___________________________

  
  
  


Sam had made his way through almost the entire pot of coffee the next morning before he realized it was nearly 11 o’clock and he hadn’t heard from Dean or Castiel. 

 

_ Don’t make me do this, guys… _

 

He waited another few minutes before realizing he really had an obligation to make sure they weren’t killed by some malevolent force or other that might be lingering in the bunker. There was a ninety-nine percent chance they were perfectly fine, and dammit he didn’t really want specifics of Dean’s angel wing research… 

 

_ Just a quick look to make sure they’re alive. _

 

Dean’s bedroom door was ajar and the room empty.

 

Castiel’s bedroom door was locked. He knocked tentatively. He wasn’t interested in picking a lock when he knew damn well his brother’s naked ass was the only thing greeting him on the other side. He figured he wait until after dinner before he risked that image.  _ I’m sure they’re fine, just...exhausted. Gross.  _ He had reassured himself sufficiently to start walking back down the hallway when he heard the door open behind him. 

 

Castiel, wrapped only in a bedsheet from the waist down, stood in the doorway. Behind him, he was a massive pile of blankets on the Cas’s bed and the room strewn with black feathers. 

 

Cas nodded a greeting to Sam, and held out a handful of feathers. 

 

Sam took them hesitantly.

 

“Protection spells made with angelic feathers will only work on those an angel had made his or her family.”

 

“Huh. Okay. Uh...thanks?”

 

“Dean and I may be occupied for several days.”

 

“Ugh, okay, I don’t need the details.”   
  


Cas looked slightly annoyed, “Not in a sexual way, Sam.” He paused to consider, “Well, not exclusively in a--”

 

Sam held up a hand.

 

“Got it. Seriously, I’m happy for you guys, just… yeah.” He glanced in the room again to see his brother’s form buried under the mound of blankets, pillows, and feathers. 

 

_ Oh! Nesting! Cool. _

 

Cas retreated back into the room and Sam began to head back to the library. 

 

_ Now, let’s see what that text said about nesting... _


End file.
